


Rain On Me

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: 1_million_words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel almost never had a chance to tell him he was in love with him; nearly lost his own life at the hands of the demon in Dean's skin. But for once fate was kind to them. For a while, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain On Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelus2hot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelus2hot/gifts).



> Written as a reward fic for Angelus2hot on the 1_million_words comm on LJ. This was written for the Rainy Days and Mondays prompt 'rain on the roof.'

It rained hard, and hailed, too, the night it all changed again; when they purged a demon from Dean’s body using vial after vial of Sam’s blood.

Castiel remembered it as he surfaced, groaning in pain in the back of the Impala. He recalled the hours he and Sam spent pacing the barn they'd cornered the demon in, jabbing needles into its neck, holding it by Dean’s hair so it couldn’t turn and bite them. 

It still kept trying, though; fighting to take a chunk out of them.

They’d prayed, too. As little hope as either had, they actually stood together in between jabs and prayed Dean would _be_ there when they forced it out. That they would see his green eyes full of light, would see concern and caring on his face again instead of that cold sneer. 

Sam was driving, now, more like _flying_ the car. Castiel heard water drumming on the roof and hissing through one slightly open window loud enough to compete with Dean’s voice. Dean, really _him_ here, with them. crouching up over Castiel, shaking Castiel’s shoulder, fingers tracing Cas’ face. 

“Hang on - found a hospital, we’re almost there. Hang on for me, Cas, _please_ …”

He tried to lift his head but there was – _blinding_ pain, like his skull had been crushed. He felt blood matting his hair, lifted his head long enough to see the shoulder and chest of his shirt soaked, thick spatters on his pants. They’d put his coat under his head. It was soaked, too.

“Dean,” Castiel looked up at him - saw his eyes narrow with sorrow, with guilt, lower lip trembling like he wanted to cry but didn’t want to scare Cas. “It’s okay, it’s…ohhh….”

Maybe it _wasn’t_ okay; speaking made his brain scramble, his heart jump, pound, stutter. Everything went grey, then deep grey then…

“Castielllll…” Dean, giving in to panic, sobbing his name.

Black.

~*~

It was warm in the hospital. Dry, antiseptic, purposefully removed from the elemental outdoors. That’s what he hated about them, Castiel realized later; hospitals were necessary but hollow way stations, detached from the sun and the rain and the living of life. 

He woke to ten people working on him; ripping off the shirt half stuck to his skin, hooking him to machines and piercing his veins with needles, pumping him full of….

Out again. Then, sutures throbbing in his head, Dean and Sam here and gone and back. Dean was arguing with a doctor, shouting at someone. It was silent overnight except for the staff calls over the intercom, the click and shuffle of feet in the hall. He tried to talk, but there was something in his mouth…. breathing for him.

It was during one of those long overnights he remembered how the demon taunted them.

_‘He was sorry he didn’t kill you.’ It had told Sam as Sam administered the second vial of blood. ‘Hated himself for not being strong enough to do it. He never looked at you the same as he did before her…before Ruby. You know it, too. Yeah, you do.’_

Cas had gasped, for Sam. That thing heard it, and turned Dean’s head to face Castiel, to look him up and down. It made Dean’s lip curve in even deeper disdain.

_"And you, scarecrow – guess what? He knew you were in love with him. Did he bother to say so? Did he mention you were only a pet to him? Not even a dog or a cat… more like a turtle. Slow, clueless; something you toss food to, and if it lives, it lives. That's why he could push you out the door with fifty bucks and a cell phone the way he did.”_

‘Cas,’ Sam said it sharply, drawing Castiel’s gaze. 

He knew he must look ridiculous to Sam, to the demon; visibly wounded.

Sam shook his head, a ‘don’t listen, you know better.’ But the bad things are hard to dismiss. Especially when you suspect they hold some truth.

~*~

It was cold and damp in the bunker. With fall coming, Sam had been working hard to get the heat pumping correctly but…it was spotty.

Castiel mostly slept, blankets up to his eyebrows. Remembering the night the brothers had come to get him.

“Cas, buddy, can you walk? Or stand? And we’ll….c’mon, we just gotta get you to the stairwell then we’ll carry you…”

He was in and out of consciousness the whole way to the car. Remembered waking up with his head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean in the back seat with him again, Sam driving. Dean was saying ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, saying ‘they were asking too many questions, you know? About who you were, who we …. I’m so sorry, Cas…hope you’re not hurting?’

Dean might have been in his room a couple of times since then, too. It had mostly been Sam, though – making him drink water, take pills and bourbon for the pain. Bringing him soup. 

“Castiel, I know it’s been hard….” Sam standing at his door, after a delivery. “But as soon you can get up… I could really use your help. Dean….”

“He hasn’t left, has he?”

Like that night on the bridge, Castiel didn’t ask.

“No. He’s here. He’s….beating up on himself hard again. Over you nearly dying. And the other people he hurt when ... it had him.”

“I don’t know if I can help,” Castiel cut in. “He only sees me as…”

“Bullshit,” Sam said it softly. “That was bull, and you know it.”

Castiel watched Sam go, then sank back into it – the warmth of the sheets, and the comforting, heavy feel of his own belly full of soup and crackers and coffee. 

Sam thought he could save Dean. Castiel knew he couldn’t. Only Dean could save Dean now.

~*~

The morning came when it didn’t matter anymore – any of it. It was time to get up.

He wandered the room searching for clothes to wear. Apparently his footsteps and the sound of drawers sliding drew Sam.

“Well, look at that,” he’d said when he knocked and peeked in. “Arthur Dent is vertical.”

“Ah, yes,” Castiel tossed the shirt that looked least threadbare back toward the bed, still scrounging for pants. “Arthur Dent, because of the rats nests in my hair. And the dirty bathrobe. That’s good. That’s….. extremely apt.”

“Glad you appreciate it,” Sam turned. “Once you wash up, maybe come make _me_ some lunch?”

“Absolutely,” Castiel appraised a pair of old jeans that looked approximately his size. “But a sandwich may be the best I can do. I have no experience with pans and…burners. Gas burners especially, might be inadvisable.”

“A sandwich will be great.”

They ate in silence, Sam’s eyes on his laptop, Castiel taking things slowly after so long in bed. He didn’t have it in him to ask Sam, but eventually Sam caught the looks Cas was shooting him and nodded toward the walkway headed outside.

“Dean heard you moving around and… he took off. I’m sorry, man. Sometimes… for such a strong guy, he can act like a ten year old.”

“He didn’t take a bag?”

“No. Just grabbed the keys. Didn’t say a word.”

Castiel nodded. He hoped he wouldn’t be the one who needed to pack a bag soon. 

~*~

He was standing in the scrubby brush in front of the bunker, breathing in the warm, humid air – a last gasp of summer - when he heard it; the Impala’s engine. 

He’d mostly kept his mind empty, waiting for him. But now with the car pulling up and Dean getting out, jaw set, eyes on the ground, Cas remembered that night again….

The demon had freed one hand from the restraints, then the other. It had hidden it well; they didn’t see it until Sam approached to shoot it full of the final dose of blood and it flung Dean’s arm, closed fist connecting with Sam’s cheekbone.

Castiel heard the clatter of the vial and scrambled toward it. He never got it – was suddenly on his back, that _thing_ in Dean's body over him. He tried to scramble away, but he was only days past the last of the stolen grace leaving him and ...he couldn't.

Sam was over the demon in a hurry, both of them wrestling with it as cruel fingers dug into Castiel’s hair and …

 _Slam_ – his head, being pounded into the barn’s cement floor. 

_Again_.. and _again_ and… tooth-cracking, bone shattering strikes that made Castiel see fireworks and sick, flowing waves of red and purple behind his own eyelids. 

The demon shouted at him as it bashed his skull.

“Die, Castiel…. _give up._ You are _dying_ right now. You are dying by _his hand_ if it’s the last thing I….”

He was too blinded by pain to see it; Sam finding the needle, stabbing that thing with it. He heard the sound of the smoke roaring from Dean’s mouth, felt as much as saw Dean crumple, palms of his hands finding the floor on either side of Castiel to catch himself. 

Cas was getting his sight back when it happened – Dean surfacing, back with them, his eyes glazed and then bright but horrified, his hands going to Cas’ head, trying to cradle it, only to find his palms soaked in Cas’ blood.

“No… _no_. What… is _happening_? Where … _where_ are we?”

He’d heard Sam murmuring comforting words to Dean before he went under, and in spite of the encroaching darkness, Castiel felt a smile shoot from his heart to his lips.

He felt another one teasing a corner of his mouth now as Dean walked up…and it started to rain. Just a light mist; cool and fresh, the dry earth suddenly smelling of mud and ozone and …hope. Life.

“I don’t know...” Dean started to look at him, looked away again. “…if I can ever forgive myself. For taking on the mark, killing …all those people. Nearly killing you.”

“I’ve done some incredibly stupid things myself,” Castiel offered and Dean nodded like he knew that was coming.

“Yeah, and I sure wasn’t in any hurry to forgive you. Was I?”

“Maybe we’ve both learned. To be less reckless. More careful about…how we value ourselves for each other’s sake? Listen, I know….” he grabbed the arm of Dean’s jacket, shaking it, asking for his eyes back. “I know you’ll never feel the same way I do for you, but….”

“Excuse me,” Dean did his ‘what did I just hear?’ head tilt, chin jutting out and Castiel froze. “Did it _tell_ you… did it try to speak on _my_ behalf about how _I_ feel about you?”

“Yes. And about Sam, too. It said…”

“Screw whatever it said. You let it? You listened?”

“Dean, it’s okay, you don’t have to…”

It was like being back in the barn, now, how disorienting it was; Dean grabbing him, pulling him in, a hand in his hair again but so very gentle this time. A strong, warm mouth was urging his open, lips and tongue working him slow and deep, Dean kissing him until he was leaning into him, feeling deboned.

“Did it mention … I’ve wanted to do that for a few years now?” Dean asked when he pulled back, lips an inch away, red and inviting. Castiel couldn’t help reaching in for a few more slow, light swipes.

“No… it … most definitely did not.”

You should never, Castiel thought as Dean kissed him hard again, listen to a demon. Ever.

~*~

It rained the rest of the night, the wind kicking up. 

It was cold again, too, the air in the room chilly but the two of them so warm in his bed.

Castiel shifted, and though Dean didn’t wake he shifted, too, on his side, an arm going tighter around Cas.

He replayed it: Dean tugging him straight here by a wrist – the slow, easy tease of kissing and peeling away their clothes. The sound of Dean getting breathless over him, losing control as they twisted and… it was better than anything he’d imagined. Less romantic, more like a blood-pounding wrestling match with a toe curling ending.

And the sounds Dean had made? Sweet _mother_ , they were…. yes. They were...good.

Cas scooted back, the little spoon to Dean’s big one, pressing tight to him. 

He would think of him every time it rained; for the twenty years they would have together, and the ones Castiel endured once Dean was gone. 

He would always think of him - of them - when it rained.


End file.
